


rom-coms and romance novels

by longhairzarry



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Pining, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-08 00:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11069931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhairzarry/pseuds/longhairzarry
Summary: “Well, when he shows up on your doorstep next time, you’ll know,” she says as she pulls out another bottle of wine, something expensive he bought last year at a wine festival in New York City. He planned on saving it for a special occasion, like the launch of one of his new books or something. He guesses tonight’s the night.“I’ll know what?” Harry asks, dumbfounded, his brow furrowed at her like she has all the answers in the world.“That it’s fate.”For the prompt: Harry's a best-selling novelist raising two toddlers and a clingy, orange tabby cat until one day he meets the cute delivery guy--making all of his rom-com dreams come true.





	rom-coms and romance novels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sitandadmire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitandadmire/gifts).



> Hiii! I tried my absolute hardest to make this the best it could be--it was a lot more difficult than I thought but I had so much fun writing this, it's much different than what I usually venture into. Thank you so much to my beta Austin (aka Austinattack)--for making my work not so crappy. Also, the amount of effort that goes into putting this exchange together is greatly appreciated by so many so thanks for your hard, hard work--we're all very grateful.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all like it. I'm nervous to see how it does but also so excited--enjoy!

It’s 1:20 a.m. and it’s raining. Thunder clattering, torrential downpour rain; not the most ideal weather, especially for late at night. The flowers in the front yard will definitely be sinking into the dirt afterwards. Harry ponders this as he’s currently hunched over his laptop in his study, trying to find the perfect adjective to describe the main protagonist of his latest novel. He might go with ‘undaunted,’ ‘gritty,’ ‘valiant,’ or maybe even just plain ‘ballsy.’ 

Before he can even type his next thought to get him out of this unnerving writer’s block, Roxy jumps up in front of his computer screen. Roxy’s his orange tabby cat who never lets him go a minute without realizing that she isn’t there, constantly underfoot and meowing for attention. Roxy’s become a permanent staple in Harry’s everyday life. She noses at Harry’s face, head-butting him, not even caring that she’s stepping all over his keyboard in the process and producing a whole jumble of letters that spell nothing in particular. Harry tries shooing her away, frustrated that he’s just lost his train of thought, unable to get past this one scene in his novel. It’s supposed to be the climax of the story but he can’t get into the climactic writing mood if all he sees is a mess of whiskers and orange fur.

He’s been working on this novel since last year--the deadline’s coming up soon and he’s nowhere close to being finished. With four novels under his belt already, Harry knows that it’s important to get this just right. He’s angry at himself now--he always had a knack for a good murder mystery, earning him four best-sellers and even winning Author of the Year at the National Book Awards. After all the accolades he’d gotten so far, he figured he’d try something a little different, something none of his avid readers or even his editors would think he’d ever do--a romance novel. It was one night after watching _Love Actually, The Holiday,_ and _Bridget Jones’s Diary_ all back to back that he decided he was inspired by the idea of a proper romance. He’s now gravely regretting that choice as he’s completely stumped in the dead of night, the brightness of his computer screen burning his eyes, and the tiredness catching up to him.

Suddenly, Harry hears the small pitter patter of tiny feet heading towards the study. Pushing the door open slightly, a pair of innocent eyes peek at him, almost as if they’re asking permission to come inside. 

“C’mere, honey,” Harry beckons the child over, picking her up to sit in his lap as she rubs her eyes sleepily. “Why’re you up? You have a bad dream?”

“Thunder scared me, daddy,” she says, lips trembling, on the verge of tears. The thunder had been going on all night, causing the power to flicker a few times but nothing too bad. Harry had a feeling it’d wake up one of the kids, giving him the duty of comforting crying children at almost two in the morning. 

“It’s okay, Liza. It’s outside, it won’t hurt you,” Harry tells her as he rubs her back in an effort to calm her, hating to see her cry. 

“You weren’t in your room.”

“I know, honey. I’m working on stuff. You wanna go back to bed?” Harry asks as he shuts his laptop and gets up from his chair, carrying Liza close to him. He’ll work more on his story tomorrow, his inspiration was running dry tonight, writer’s block taking a hold of him.

“Wanna sleep in your bed, daddy,” she whimpers, giving the saddest puppy-dog eyes Harry’s ever seen. He couldn’t possibly say no to her. With a deep sigh, Harry agrees but not before he makes her promise that tonight’s the only exception. He knows that won’t happen.

Harry tucks Liza in next to him, making her giggle when he wraps the blankets around her tightly, claiming that the monsters under the bed won’t be able to get her anymore. Her cold feet barely touch his kneecaps before he’s pretending to gasp in shock--just to make her laugh a bit more to make up for her tears earlier. Before they’re able to doze off, another little figure appears at the bedroom door.

“Can I sleep in your bed too, daddy?” 

Harry almost laughs. He’s been trying to keep them sleeping in their own beds as they’re growing up, not wanting them to be too dependent on him as they get older. He read it somewhere in the countless parenting books he bought when they first came into his life. Harry tries to follow through on these rules but sometimes he just can’t help but give in. That’s what love is, he thinks. 

“Of course, Connor. C’mon, right next to Liza,” he offers as he lifts up the covers for him to slip in, cuddled up to his sister.

Once they’re all eventually settled in Harry’s king size bed, the children immediately start dozing off--Harry was always amazed how easily they could fall asleep ever since he first adopted them. It was like there wasn’t a care in the world in their heads and that’s how Harry always wanted it to be. He never wanted them to worry about anything, like whether or not they had enough money or if there would be a roof over their heads. He wanted to give them the best, most wonderful life, even if it meant he had to sacrifice something for himself--he’d cut off one of his limbs if it meant they could be happy forever. As they sleep soundly, long eyelashes touching their cheeks and cold toes touching his skin, Harry finally shuts his eyes, ready for sleep to take over. 

 

//

 

Harry had always envisioned his life at 28 to be something a bit different. He thought maybe he’d be living in a fancy, designer flat, smackdab in the middle of London, close to all the nightlife where he’d go out with friends--he might have a fiance, might even be married. He figured his career would just be taking off--perhaps he’d be a writer for a magazine, writing his own column about things that interested him like art, books, music. He’d have a nice salary that’d allow him the benefits of a luxurious life, enough to have fun but enough to be comfortable. He certainly didn’t see himself with the life he had now--living in a four bedroom cottage out in the English countryside with two kids under the age of five and a needy cat. While his career was something he never could’ve dreamed of, allowing him that luxurious life he’d always wanted--he didn’t see himself raising young kids alone. 

Harry hadn’t always been alone. In fact, him being alone had almost been some sort of myth not even a couple years ago. Harry and Jamie had been together for almost three years, meeting in uni and eventually entering the stage of ‘real adult life’ after graduating. Some would say they were inseparable and inevitably, they’d always be together. As Harry’s career took off, he was around less and less, the distance taking its toll and eventually it all ended. Now, Harry’s not one to mention being heartbroken, he likes to think he’s rather tough when it comes to relationships--not wanting to dwell on the past and just move on. Through it all came a lot of soul-searching notes in his journals during late night sessions in the darkness of his London flat and a realization he never knew he’d come across. Harry wanted a family. He wanted the house out in the country with a white picket fence and the packed lunches for the kids. He wanted to teach his children how to ride a bike with the scratches and bruises on the knees. He wanted the golden retriever barking at the heels of his children as they play out in the huge backyard full of green grass and picturesque sunsets. He also wanted a porch swing--not for any reason in particular just that it seemed essential to this life he dreamt of. 

Granted, only some of these things actually happened--the house on the countryside didn’t exactly have a white picket fence or a porch swing. Also instead of a golden retriever he was left with a orange furball of a cat which he didn’t mind much. Cats were much easier to take care of. And he was alone. No husband, no boyfriend, just him left to take care of two rambunctious toddlers ready to take on the world. When Harry made the choice to adopt, he knew it’d be a challenge, and adopting not one but two children was something he knew he needed. He wanted the family he had envisioned in his head even if it wasn’t in the most ideal way--a single parent taking on the duties made for two. 

Now he finds himself planning dinners, making monthly trips to the grocery store further up into town. He runs the kids’ baths every night, scrubbing behind their ears and watching them intently when they brush their teeth, making sure to avoid that frightful first cavity. He tucks them in every night only to be interrupted in the middle of the night by hushed whispers asking if they can sleep in his bed to hide from the monsters in their closet. He doesn't really mind it, he thinks. 

 

//

 

Harry can’t think of anything new for dinner tonight. He’s trying to get Liza and Connor to eat healthier--they can’t live off Pop-Tarts and cereal forever. Also, scouring the internet for potential recipes isn’t helping. Harry considers himself a pretty decent cook, he can cook the hell out of a cheese toastie and even make a delicious fry-up--something he perfected in his early twenties after heavy nights of drinking. But these recipes are so advanced, calling for special appliances and ingredients that he doesn’t have on such short notice. He goes for the next best thing--takeaway. It might be considered the easy way out but at this point he’ll take what he can get. After a few minutes he comes across a home-delivery service with a very familiar but odd name--Green Gorilla Chef. The logo consisting of a green gorilla in a chef’s hat and he vaguely remembers one of his friends mentioning it in a conversation recently--something about how _“the food was great, a little too organic for my liking but good if you’re one of those crazy L.A. health nuts.”_ Harry laughs under his breath remembering that conversation mostly because he went through a juice cleanse phase years ago, thinking it’d help him feel better, maybe a little cleaner. Really he ended up more hungry than anything else. 

Harry settles on something simple--roasted turkey and vegetables--figuring the balsamic chicken and eggplant may be a bit too much for Liza and Connor. They’re not even five yet, their palates can’t handle that. Harry can just imagine their noses raised high, refusing to eat something that isn’t considered a “normal” color to them. Kids can be so picky.

He places the order, scheduled to arrive later in the day giving Harry an adequate amount of time to continue working on his story from last night. It’s not long after he pulls up the document on his laptop that he hears small footsteps walking down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Harry greets cheerily, with a bright smile as he turns to see Liza standing in the middle of the kitchen, fuzzy-eyed, and long brown hair a mess. Harry feels a sudden warmth in his chest, he feels it all the time when he looks at either Liza or Connor. 

“Daddy, m’hungry,” she mumbles, rubbing at her tired eyes, trying to wipe the sleep from them. 

“You are?” Harry asks as he gets up out of his chair to pick her up, cuddling her close. “Well, what do you want? Chef Daddy at your service,” he says as he sits her down in the chair, bowing his head a bit as if she’s royalty and if he’s honest, she definitely is. 

Liza giggles a bit, clearly amused by her father’s antics. “You’re not a chef, daddy!” Harry puts a hand over his chest, feigning offense. The dramatics always make her laugh. 

“What? Of course I am! I make the best cheese toasties in the world, you even said so!”

“Nuh uh. Aunt Gemma does it better,” she says through a hearty laugh, knowing it’ll get him riled up. Harry isn’t sure if he should be worried about that. Liza’s flare for the dramatics at just four years old could end up getting her in trouble, but then again, Harry was always sort of like that as well. He supposes there’s a bit of her dad in her even though she isn’t biologically his. 

“I have a feeling she made you say that just to make me mad,” Harry smirks, squinting his eyes at her like he’s sussing her out, trying to see through her little mind games. 

“Nope, it’s true, daddy,” she giggles some more. Harry will never get tired of hearing that. 

He wouldn’t put it past his sister, Gemma, to bribe one of his children to say she’s better at something than he is. Maybe giving them one extra cookie or piece of candy just to see the reaction on his face when Connor exclaims that _“Aunt Gemma is so much better at picking out movies than daddy!”_ or _“Aunt Gemma is way better at taking us to the park, daddy! She lets us pet all the dogs that walk by, you never let us do that. Why, daddy?”_ He’s just a bit cautious, is all. He reads one article on the internet about how a child gets his face bit by a chihuahua and he gets paranoid--they need to be safe at all times. Becoming a father has made him a huge worry wart. They’re just both so young, unable to take care of themselves if something ever happened to him. He can’t even take one eye off them when they’re in the bath--the drain could suck them up, down into the sewers, forever living with some sewer monster. Of course, that’s unrealistic but that’s what parenthood is like or at least that’s what Harry’s mother told him. 

While Harry’s busy cooking up scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, Connor finally joins them, just as bleary-eyed and sleepy as Liza was when she first trudged into the kitchen. 

“Why hello there, sleepyhead. So glad you could join us,” Harry greets him, dividing all the eggs onto three different plates for each of them. 

Without muttering a word, Connor climbs up onto the chair at the table next to Liza. He’s already developing quite the attitude even though he’s barely four years old. Harry knows he’ll have the quite the handful once they’re teenagers. 

After finishing up the toast and giving each of them a slice, he sets down the plates in front of them, making sure they all have forks. Connor’s developed this habit where he only eats with his hands. Harry guesses that’s normal since he’s only three but sometimes he wishes they knew it wasn’t really appropriate dinner etiquette to have your finger in your nose and then immediately afterwards continue to eat your macaroni and cheese with that same hand.

Liza begins a lengthy story about how yesterday she saw a horse on grandma’s farm. Connor and Liza spent the day with Gemma and his mother, Anne, while he had a busy day of mind-numbing meetings with his agent about his new book. Harry grew up on a little farm in Cheshire, he figures that’s why he wanted a house in the middle of nowhere like he has now. He likes the open fields and the fresh air--no cars honking, tires screeching, or arguing neighbors. Just the sounds of birds chirping in the morning and crickets at night. He loves the stars as well, not getting that kind of scenery in a big city like London. It’s been awhile since he’s had Connor and Liza go out in the backyard at night to catch fireflies and take it all in. He makes a mental note to do that soon before they’re too old and don’t want to hang out with their crotchety old dad anymore. 

They finish up their breakfast quickly, Liza already scooting out her chair and running off into the living room to turn on the TV. Connor’s close behind her, ready to watch their usual morning cartoons. Most of the time Harry watches with them but he has so much work to do, deciding he’ll just sit on the couch with them, computer in his lap, writing away but also keeping an eye on them.

He takes all their dishes to the sink to rinse off, stealing a glance towards his kids in the living room over the breakfast bar. They’re both sitting side by side on the couch, repeating whatever Dora the Explorer said on the TV. Harry doesn’t get the appeal of these shows. Half the time he’s tuning it out, counting down the minutes until it’s over. But he enjoys watching them watch it, the excitement on their faces, the giggles they let loose when something’s particularly funny to them. So he figures it’s not all that bad to watch it with them every once in awhile. All he can see now are the very tops of the backs of their heads, barely even making it over the top of the couch. Connor has his head resting on Liza’s shoulder, probably still a little bit groggy from just waking up. Harry feels that warmth in his chest again, that loving feeling of fatherhood and he smiles. 

 

//

 

At around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, the doorbell rings. Harry’s working diligently on his laptop at the kitchen table, in the middle of a turning point in the story and he contemplates even answering since he’s been struggling lately with writing. Liza and Connor are down for their afternoon nap and they were especially rowdy this time around making it even harder for him to relax. Even the slightest interruption and he loses his train of thought; answering the door and getting wrapped up in a conversation could cost him a potentially good idea. He eventually get ups, sighing as he goes to the door. If it’s truly an amazing idea, it’ll stay with him for at least a little while. 

He opens the door to a very good looking man--Harry would describe him as an Adonis, some sort of Greek god. Maybe it’s just the writer in him and the words spewing from his brain but he swears he could write a whole chapter alone on the cut of this guy’s jawline and the length of his eyelashes. He almost shakes his head. _Stop being dramatic, Harry._

“Hello, delivery from Green Gorilla Chef!” The man says with the biggest smile, holding up the bags of groceries in his hands.

Oh yeah. Harry totally forgot he ordered from this place, his nose so deep in his work that he’d forgotten everything he’d done before 10 a.m. “Y-yes! Thank you,” Harry manages to blurt out, clearing his throat one too many times afterwards. He thinks it’s some type of nervous tick he’s developed over the past couple years. It’s annoying and makes him sound like a pack-a-day smoker even though he’s never had a cigarette in his life.

Harry takes the bags from him, not trying to pay too much attention to the way their hands brush when he grabs them by the handle. Harry could never really keep his composure around a really attractive guy--always saying the dumbest things that came into his mind, sweating profusely, clammy hands and all. But it always came across as charming and maybe even a bit cute or at least that’s what Jamie said. Harry just thinks it’s his dimples.

“Anything else I can do for you?” The man asks with a smile.

_I can think of a lot of things,_ Harry finds himself thinking. _Snap out of it, Harry, you pervert._ “Um, no? I don’t think so. Thank you,” Harry offers him a kind smile, hoping his dimples make a lasting impression, it’s his only way to sway a nice looking guy.

“Okay! Well, you can review everything on our site if you have any questions or concerns, we’re always happy to help! Have a good day,” the man says with a sweet smile, eyes crinkling. Harry swears his knees go weak. Before he walks away, Harry gets a good look at his nametag. His name’s Zayn and somehow, that fits a little better than Greek god, Adonis.

 

//

 

Harry finds himself ordering from Green Gorilla Chef again the next week. The food was great, easy to cook and for once Liza didn’t immediately demand a peanut butter and jelly sandwich--she’s usually picky with her food, making it difficult to cook for. Harry knows he shouldn’t give her what she wants all the time but he can’t help it. Her big, sad eyes could break anyone’s heart. Also, he’s definitely not ordering again in hopes of having the same modelesque-looking guy who delivered their food last week on his doorstep. Not at all. He just really likes the fresh vegetables is all. 

Except this time around when the doorbell rings for the delivery, Liza is in the middle of a mini concert she’s putting on for her dad. All her stuffed animals are lined up, sitting on the couch, posing as her audience. It’s definitely a lot to take in--a long feather boa around her neck and a flashlight in one hand, pretending it’s a microphone with “Dancing Queen” playing in the background. Harry and Connor are sitting on the couch opposite the other side of the room, giving cheers and applause when necessary. Harry’s sure that one day, Liza will become some kind of entertainer--a singer, dancer, or maybe even an actress. She loves the attention. Before Harry even has time to get up to answer the door, Liza’s already making her way to the door, feather boa flying behind her like a cape. 

“No, Liza!” Harry exclaims, but already too late as she’s turning the knob to the front door and greeting the person behind it.

“Hi! I-I’m Liza. I’m singing!” She’s practically yelling, slightly out of breath after sprinting to the door on her little legs. 

Harry’s at the door, stopping Liza from saying anything else, not wanting her to spill her entire life story to the delivery man. Like any other kid below the age of five, she has no filter--it becomes a little unnerving after a while.

Harry can’t even process what to say when he realizes it’s cute delivery guy again. Or Zayn. He figures he should call him by his name now, he’s not some nameless, beautiful face.

 _It’s fate,_ Harry thinks. _Don’t be pathetic, mate. It’s just a coincidence. Maybe they’re short-staffed, don’t get too ahead of yourself._

“I’m sorry. She knows not to answer the door, I tell her all the time. But you know. Kids.” Harry jokingly rolls his eyes, hoping Zayn gets his sarcasm. Or maybe he won’t, he probably doesn’t have kids of his own, has absolutely no idea what Harry’s babbling on about. He just wants to deliver his groceries and finish his shift. _God, Harry, shut up. You’re such a loser._

“Oh, trust me. I get it. My nephew just turned four and he thinks he’s ready to take on the world,” Zayn chuckles, giving Harry a reassuring smile because _yes, he does know what you’re talking about, Harry._

Harry wants to melt looking at him. Zayn’s all doey-eyed, plush lips, long eyelashes, and sharp cheekbones. How can someone this good looking be merely working for a grocery delivery service when he could be a model, plastered all over billboards and runways in Milan and Paris? Harry doesn’t realize he’s been openly staring at him until he feels a tug at his sweatpants from Liza who’s peeking out from behind his leg, suddenly shy in front of the stranger at their front door. 

“Hey, there. What’s your name?” Zayn asks suddenly, looking straight at Liza, shooting a warm smile her way. Liza looks at Harry, almost as if asking for his permission to respond. Harry slightly nods, putting his hand on the top of her head, reassuring her it’s okay. He’s here to protect her if anything goes wrong.

“L-Liza,” she stutters quietly, hands behind her back and her feather boa still wrapped around her shoulders. 

“Liza, wow. That’s a beautiful name. My nephew’s name is Zamir. He’s got brown eyes just like you,” Zayn tells her, making Liza giggle and a little more comfortable. Harry’s sure his knees are going to give out. Watching this attractive man absolutely charming his usually stubborn daughter is more than he can handle right now. Connor eventually makes his way over to the door, taking a break from playing with Roxy, and curious why there’s so much commotion going on. 

“Daddy, what’s going on?” He asks, also becoming cautious of the unknown man standing in front of them.

“This is Zayn, Connor. He’s delivering our dinner for tonight. Remember that turkey you liked so much last time? He’s the one who gave it to us,” Harry tells him.

“That was the bestest!” Connor shouts as Harry picks him up, now at eye-level with Zayn.

“I’m glad,” Zayn laughs, clearly amused by Connor’s exuberance. But before Zayn hands over the groceries he’s still lugging, he asks one more thing. “How’d you know my name?” His voice is so quiet that Harry almost doesn’t hear him. He can see the confusion in Zayn’s face, probably because he never did tell Harry his name, he just delivered their groceries last time and went on his way. Harry’s very observant is all--he just happened to notice his name on his shirt, due to him checking him out a bit too much while he stood in the opening of his doorway. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but for some reason to Harry it is. He feels a bit awkward, like his little schoolboy crush has been outed, if you’d even call it that. _It’s just a name,_ Harry thinks to himself. _Get a hold of yourself._

“Oh, it’s, uh, on your nametag,” Harry points to Zayn’s shirt, trying not to make eye contact with him, feeling himself flush a bit. 

“Oh! Yeah, right. That,” Zayn laughs a bit under his breath and Harry can see a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. He’s embarrassed too. The swooping feeling in Harry’s stomach almost makes his knees buckle, knocking the wind out of him. Not to mention the flush all over Zayn’s cheeks and neck is enough to make Harry concoct a devilish fantasy in his mind that makes him feel guilty with the kids present.

Zayn quickly clears his throat, snapping Harry back to reality. “Anyways, here you go. Thanks again for ordering…” Zayn’s looking at him expectantly. It takes a few seconds for Harry to process what he’s implying, looking at him dumbly and a little too transfixed on Zayn’s wide eyes. 

_Oh, he’s asking for my name._ “H-Harry. It’s Harry,” he stutters, immediately grimacing, not meaning for it come out of his mouth so awkwardly. He’s met with Zayn’s kind smile once again, the one he gave last time he delivered to his house, where his eyes crinkled.

“Harry,” Zayn repeats it to himself grinning, almost like he’s trying it out on his tongue, seeing if he likes the sound of it. “Nice to meet you. And Liza and Connor as well. Have a good day!” He offers one last time, before waving his goodbyes towards the kids and walking off the front porch and down the driveway back to his delivery truck. Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t watch him drive away through the front window. 

 

//

 

Harry’s a little bit tipsy, about four glasses of wine in and he’s about to pass out. It’s pathetic really, back in his university days he could take down six tequila shots in a row and not even be mildly phased. He thinks it’s due to the fact that he hasn’t gotten drunk in so long, ever since Liza and Connor came into the picture he doesn’t really have nights to himself anymore--no more late night pub crawls with his friends, a new pub every hour, trying out any craft beer they could find. He misses it. That’s why tonight he’s letting loose, handing his kids over to his mum for the night, and spending time with the bottle of wine Cassie brought over.

He’s stressed, the deadline of his new book rapidly approaching and there’s no end in sight. His agent’s going to kill him, his head on a silver platter and all. Then there’s the kids, he loves Liza and Connor but taking care of two toddlers by himself is tiresome. Sometimes he feels like his head is constantly spinning trying to keep up with them, there’s always a mess to be cleaned, a scratch to be healed, hair to be brushed, a meal to be made, and Harry’s just exhausted. With each sip of red wine, Harry can feel the tension in shoulders slowly disappearing. Roxy curls up next to Cassie’s side where she’s sitting on the sofa. _Dumb cat. Always kissing up to whoever comes around._

“How’s the love life, Styles?” Cassie inquires as she sips from her wine glass, eyes peeking over the rim. She has that fiendish look in her eye, something Harry became all too familiar with back in uni. They’d be at a house party, she’d be chatting up some gorgeous guy, charming his pants off and would spot Harry from across the room, give him that devilish look and Harry knew exactly what she meant. She was always a bit more forward than Harry, taking the initiative when needed and never sat back waiting. Maybe that’s why they fit so well together.. He liked sitting back and watching, never one to chat up a guy first. Sure, he was charming and he had the dimples to match, Cassie always said, but he was a little bit shy. Harry figures that’s why they live in such different places, Harry in the middle of nowhere England and Cassie smackdab in the hustle and bustle of London. 

“What love life?” Harry snickers, “with two kids there’s no such thing as a love life?” He takes another big gulp of his wine, trying not to look and sound like a total cliche.

“Oh, c’mon! Bullshit. Look at you, heartbreaker. Why aren’t there loads of boys lining up outside your door right now?” Harry knows she’s just trying to cheer him up but it’s quite depressing. He’d love to have a nice boyfriend, someone who’d love him just as much as they love his children, someone who could cook him dinner and cuddle with on the couch after the kids have been tucked in. He has plenty of bottles of wine in his cupboard to share with someone, a fireplace to sit by. And, to be blunt. He needs to get laid. Badly. The morning wank in the shower after his kids have gone to daycare isn’t ideal. 

“Because I’m a single dad. No one wants to deal with that baggage.” He’s sulking now. Great. He was hoping he’d get to the point of drunkenness that involved nothing but euphoria and carelessness but instead he’s stumbled down this depressing path.

“You know that’s not true. I bet I could find you a great man who loves kids who--”

“It’s fine, Cass. Just forget it.” He cuts her off, quickly downs the rest of his wine, and reaches for the bottle on the coffee table to pour himself some more. 

“Nonsense, Harry. There’s a guy who works in my office. Very good looking, got that scruff you like, tall but not too big. He’s so funny and so smart, you’d love him,” she keeps rambling, it’s like she’s trying to sell this guy to him. 

Harry’s not interested. He’s been set up on Cassie’s blind dates before and they’ve all ended horribly. He doesn’t want to wind up down that twisted, disastrous road again. Harry shakes his head vigorously, adamant that he’s not taking the bait on this one. 

“Fine, be that way. You can’t tell me there’s like, absolutely no one on this planet you wanna be with? Not even in this little crappy village?” Cassie sighs dramatically.

Harry can’t help but let his mind wander to a certain pouty-lipped, dark-haired, Bambi-eyed someone. _The cute guy that delivers my groceries. The only reason I order from there is because I want to see him. It’s just a stupid crush._ Harry shrugs his shoulders, not wanting to mention Zayn to Cassie. Knowing her, she’d stalk him, finding out everything about him--where he’s from, what uni he went to, how many siblings he has, and what breed his dog is. She’s nothing but thorough. 

Cassie must sense a slight change in his mood. Harry’s shoulders tense up again, not making eye contact with her and focusing way more on the program that’s currently on TV even though it’s on the lowest volume possible.

“Don’t lie to me, Harry.” She squints her eyes at him, watching him carefully, ready for any slip-up. “I can tell when you’re lying.” She was right, she could tell when he was telling even the whitest of lies. Like when he told her he didn’t like any John Green novels when really he sobbed like a baby reading _The Fault In Our Stars._ She had him caught before he even finished concocting it. 

Harry thinks hard before he says a word, knowing this could change a lot of things for him. He writes novels for a living, always surrounded by some sort of fantasy. How cliche is it that now he’s created this world where the cute delivery boy falls in love with him? _God, how sad._ He’s practically begging for a smack in the face. He’s been getting in too deep with writing a love story that it seems to be seeping into every crack of his life making him realize how lonely he really is. Harry takes one more swig of his wine before he seals his fate.

“Well, there’s this one guy,” he clears his throat before continuing, a bit nervous. God, his palms are sweating just talking about him. When did it get this bad? “He’s just this guy. Nothing really.”

“Obviously it isn’t nothing. Tell me, I’m all ears.” She puts her hand behind her ear, letting him know just how carefully she’s listening. Harry honestly wants to shrivel up and be buried six feet under. 

“No, Cass. It’s, like, embarrassing.”

“I won’t judge! I promise. Is he, like, a prostitute or something?” 

“What? No! He’s not a prostitute. Jesus Christ,” Harry scoffs as he pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, suddenly feeling dizziness coming on from the amount of alcohol he’s consumed. His hangover is going to be killer tomorrow morning. 

“Okay, then what is it? It can’t be that embarrassing.” She rolls her eyes, growing tired of waiting. Maybe if Harry keeps avoiding giving the answer she’ll let it go, but knowing Cassie who has the persistence of a rambunctious eight year old, she won’t. She’ll just wait until she’s completely sober and has the energy to continue badgering him.

“I’ve been, um, ordering from this online grocery delivery service thing. You know, they deliver your groceries for dinner or whatever. I don’t know. But anyway, um, this guy that delivers. He, uh, he’s very like, you know--stop laughing!” He yells as he watches Cassie trying to hold in her laughter, eyes lit up. 

“I’m sorry! But that’s like, so cute! It’s like a rom-com!”

Harry rolls his eyes and starts to get up from the sofa, causing Roxy to jump down from where she was curled up next to Cassie suddenly. Cassie immediately grabs for him, attempting to contain her laughter, not wanting to hurt Harry’s feelings. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I think it’s adorable, what’s this bloke look like?” she continues to pester him, pulling him back down onto the sofa. Harry sighs, just wanting this conversation to be over. Harry thought having a ‘crush’ ended in primary school, where the thing you worried about most was whether or not you had the same type of shoes as everyone else because they were in style. 

“He’s like stupidly beautiful. I don’t know. It’s just a crush, it’s nothing.” Harry needs more wine, a whole bottle if he’s being specific. 

“Not anymore. I want you to ask him out,” Cassie has that look again. It makes Harry sick to his stomach.

“You’re bloody insane. No way. I barely know him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Zayn,” Harry replies without even thinking. Cassie’s grinning from ear to ear like the cheshire cat. _I’m screwed now. Good job, Harry._

“See! You already know enough. Next time you see him, ask him out or I’m digging for anything on this guy and I’ll do it for you.” Cassie gets up from the sofa, wine glass in hand, walking into the kitchen, heading straight for Harry’s wine cupboard. Harry springs up as well, bolting after her, ready to put up a fight. The room’s spinning a bit, Harry feels like he’s in some sort of tornado and he finally realizes just how drunk he actually is. He really has become such a lightweight. 

“N-no, you can’t do that. Please,” he’s begging and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t even know Zayn, just that he’s the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen, he’s good with children, has a nephew, and works as a delivery guy. All listed in that order, if Harry wants to be very specific. 

Cassie isn’t saying anything, just searching for another bottle of red wine in the cabinet. It’s making Harry apprehensive which is being intensified tenfold from all the wine he’s drank tonight. 

“I don’t know when I’ll see him again. It’s literally just coincidence so asking him out is kind of up in the air,” Harry says.

“Well, when he shows up on your doorstep next time, you’ll know,” she says as she pulls out another bottle of wine, something expensive he bought last year at a wine festival in New York City. He planned on saving it for a special occasion, like the launch of one of his new books or something. He guesses tonight’s the night. 

“I’ll know what?” Harry asks, dumbfounded, his brow furrowed at her like she has all the answers in the world. 

“That it’s fate,” she states matter-of-factly and shrugging her shoulders like it’s the simplest thing in the world. She takes the bottle of wine back into the living room, leaving Harry standing alone in the kitchen. Roxy’s at his feet rubbing up against his legs, purring so loudly he feels like he can hear it right next to his ears. Harry bends down slowly, trying to balance his drunkenness and sleepiness so he can pet Roxy’s orange fur. She rubs up against his hand, eyes closed in pure bliss. He could live like this, Harry thinks, with just his kids and his cat. It’d be a lot simpler--not having to worry about fighting with a significant other or the possibility of someone leaving. But maybe that’s the beauty of it, the thought of having someone so amazing in your life to share these simple things with--no one really wants to do that alone. 

He’s thinking a bit too hard about this, he gets up rather quickly, dizzy from all the alcohol and stumbles back into the living room, ready to drink himself into an even deeper hole. Either way, this’ll make for a great plot for his next romance novel.

 

//

 

It’s been almost two weeks since Harry’s seen Zayn. He’s embarrassingly ordered from Green Gorilla Chef four times in the past week and had just the tiniest sliver of hope that Zayn would be their delivery man. He figured he should give up when the fourth and final time it was an older man with a receding hairline, although he was very nice, he wasn’t exactly Harry’s type. This whole ‘fate’ thing Cassie rambled on about wasn’t true at all. She was a filthy, rotten liar fueled by too many glasses of wine.

His newest novel feels like it’s hit a dead end. With just months left to finish, he’s nowhere near ready and he had to confess as much to his agent during his meeting this morning in London. Her stern look of disappointment over the rim of her glasses was enough to make Harry almost wet himself like he did that time when his mother caught him taking money from their ‘family emergency secret stash’ for his growing vinyl record collection. He has a couple more meetings tomorrow morning with publishers about future book deals that are in the works but all Harry really wants to do is go home, lie down in his own bed and hug his children. He had to drop Liza and Connor off at his mum’s house, kissing them goodbye with promises that he’ll see them in a couple days. He hates leaving them for longer than a day, feeling like he’s abandoning them--he’s agreed to be their father, adopting them when they were barely a year old, he feels guilty when he’s gone for even just an hour. 

After Facetiming his mum and getting a chance to say goodnight to Liza and Connor before they go to sleep, Harry feels somewhat better, being able to see their faces and hear their voices. He got to hear more about Liza’s experience with the animals on grandma’s farm and how Connor got to feed a cow. It’s all very exciting stuff for a four year old. 

Harry’s ordered himself some room service, firmly deciding that he’s going to watch a movie and relax before tomorrow, but then he gets a call from Cassie begging him to come out with her to this little hole-in-the-wall pub. ‘Oh, you’ll love it, Harry, just come out, I promise it’ll be fun!’ She had said. So that’s how Harry finds himself stuffed into some small, sweaty pub with Cassie and some of her mates from work. They’re all packed into a booth like sardines in a tin and Harry’s currently being forced to listen to this guy next to him talk about some office drama at Cassie’s job. Honestly, Harry couldn’t care less but he tries his best to humor him, adding oh’s and ah’s anytime anything relatively juicy is brought up. 

Harry’s taking one last sip of his vodka cranberry when he looks up at the bar and almost does a double take. _He’s here. Zayn is here, right at the bar. How is it possible he’s even more beautiful?_ Harry almost chokes on his drink, sputtering and coughing a bit, mouthing ‘sorry’ to the guy blabbering away next to him. 

Cassie’s rubbing his back trying to soothe his cough. “You okay?” She asks, so concerned, eyebrows furrowed like the second doting sister Harry never thought he needed. 

Before Harry’s even processed what he wants to tell her, the words are spewing from his lips, “he’s here.” 

Cassie doesn’t even need to ask, she immediately understands, her eyes wide and searching the perimeter of the pub even though she has no idea what Zayn looks like and Harry wants to hug her. 

“He’s at the bar, with the black hair, sharp jawline that could literally cut you.” Harry’s basically fawning over him and he thinks his back is sweating or maybe he’s been drenched in sweat ever since he stepped foot in this air conditionless pub. 

Cassie finally sets her eyes on him, mouth almost dropping. “You’re not serious, he looks like a Disney prince!” She’s practically yelling in Harry’s ear, over the noise and music in the pub. 

“More like a model or something,” Harry laughs at her outrageous comparison. If that’s what Disney princes looked like when Harry was a kid, he would’ve known he was gay way before university. 

“You need to go talk to him.”

“Nuh-uh, no way.” Harry’s already shaking his head so hard he gets dizzy with it. He doesn’t think he could handle the tongue-tied embarrassment tonight. 

“Yes way. It’s just like I said, Harry. It’s fate,” she shouts, with that same nonchalant shrug she did last time in his kitchen while searching for a new bottle of wine. Harry kind of wants to smack her. 

“What am I even gonna say, Cass? I can’t,” Harry pleads with her as she’s beginning to push him out of the booth, announcing to the table that Harry’s getting a round of drinks which results in a swift cheer from everyone. The guy on the other side of Cassie eventually gets up, a little annoyed at her constant pushing to get him out, allowing Harry the chance to stand up and walk to the bar. He spares one last look at Cassie, with her giving him an encouraging thumbs up. He’s gone absolutely insane if he really thinks about it and as he gets closer and closer to Zayn he feels his heart race, sure that everyone around him can hear how fast it’s beating. 

He’s at the bar before he realizes, his feet too fast for his brain and he’s practically tripping over himself trying to get right next to Zayn before anyone else does. What caused him to get this ballsy, he has no idea. Maybe it was the second vodka cranberry he convinced himself he needed. 

Zayn must see him out of the corner of his eye because he’s taking a glance in his direction but before he turns his head back, he does a double take similiar to the one Harry did earlier at him. He recognizes him but doesn’t want to make a fool of himself by being too forward, Harry hopes. 

“Hey,” Harry greets him, almost too quiet for this noisy, cramped pub. Harry wishes they were somewhere else, so he could at least not feel like he’s screaming with every word he utters. His voice will be gone by tomorrow. 

Zayn smiles that heartwarming smile that leaves Harry breathless, it’s the kind of smile Harry could write sonnets about and Harry doesn’t even really like poetry. There are so many words to describe the beauty of someone -- ethereal, astonishing, winsome, ravishing, stunning, divine -- but right now, Harry can’t even narrow it down to a top three. _There’s no reason why someone I’ve met a total of three times can make me feel this way. Is this what they mean by ‘soulmates?’_

“Hey there,” Zayn responds, turning his body towards Harry, his side leaning up against the bar, Corona in one hand. He would drink beer. 

“No deliveries to make tonight?” Harry wants to punch himself as soon as he asks it. _What the hell is wrong with you? What kind of idiot asks that?_ He’s just so nervous and he can feel his face heating up by the second, he’s probably as red as a tomato by now. It won’t be long before Zayn asks him if he got sunburnt or something. 

“Uh, no. Got the night off. Just meeting some friends,” Zayn takes a sip of his beer. Harry nods and nearly passes out watching his lips wrap around the top of the bottle. He would bet at least a hundred quid that Zayn is a wonderful kisser, he probably uses just enough tongue to make your stomach drop. 

Before Harry even has a chance to respond, Zayn’s talking again, “I would’ve never expected to see you out here since you live in the middle of nowhere,” he says, chuckling to himself and taking another swig of his Corona. Harry smiles, attempting his hardest not to let his knees buckle after hearing him laugh. 

“Just have a couple meetings here tomorrow. Book stuff,” Harry answers, like Zayn knows exactly what he’s talking about, he’s just chatting with an old pal. Harry feels like a complete moron. He wants to glance back at Cassie, positive that she hasn’t taken a eye off the entire encounter. Harry’s fidgeting, doing his absolute best not to make eye contact with Zayn because he’s sure once he does, he’ll be a puddle at his feet.

“Book stuff? You write books?”

“Uh, y-yeah. Novels,” Harry adds. Novels sounds better than ‘books,’ makes him seem more legitimate, more professional. He just wants Zayn to think he’s cool. 

“Huh. What kind of novels?”

“I’ve written some murder mysteries. That’s my favorite genre. Working on something a bit different this time around, although I’m regretting it rather badly at the moment.”

“And why is that?” Zayn questions, fingers still wrapped loosely around his sweating Corona. Harry wants to lick the condensation that’s most likely on Zayn’s palm. Harry nearly shakes his head to snap himself out of it.

“Don’t know. It’s a romance novel,” Harry says, and Zayn widens his eyes at that, clearly amused, like he wasn’t expecting that response. “I know, I know. How cliche. But hey, I’m a sucker for the good ol’ rom-com, thought I’d try out writing a book about it.”

Harry knows he’s failing epically at sounding smooth. In reality, what guy sounds cool writing a stereotypical romance novel, with the same old plot and characters, all the scenarios and outcomes identical to the ones on the big screen? He should just turn back to his table now, red from humiliation, and tell Cassie that he royally mucked it up. He’ll be alone forever--he can’t even land the cute delivery boy.

“Hey, me too. I love The Notebook,” Zayn tells him, interrupting Harry’s self-loathing thoughts. Harry finally looks at him fully, taking in his dark, doe-eyed expression. He’s got that scruff Harry really loves--Harry can almost feel it against his cheek, his mouth, his neck, and his thighs. He practically quivers at the thought. His hair’s so dark, black like the night sky in his backyard. Harry wants to write about him, an entire novel about how truly beautiful he is, with every chapter describing each strand of hair, fingernail, eyelash, and pore. He’s being dramatic, he knows that, but Harry’s really never felt this strongly about someone in his life, not even about Jamie. He’s entirely dumbfounded.

“Typical,” Harry scoffs playfully, rolling his eyes sarcastically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zayn’s laughing now and Harry’s stomach feels warm. He wants to hear it again, it’s a comforting sound. Harry would make it his new ringtone if that wasn’t considered socially unacceptable. 

“It’s just everyone’s favorite rom-com! I expected you to be different.”

“The Notebook’s a classic though, mate,” Zayn argues before continuing, “and what do you mean _different?”_ Zayn’s giving him a sly smile. _Is he flirting?_ God, Harry’s so out of his depth here. It’s been a long time since he’s just tried pulling some guy at a pub, usually he could do with one flash of his dimples and they’d be pulling him into the men’s toilets. But Harry doesn’t want just some quick, sloppy blowjob in a cramped, disgusting bathroom stall, especially with Zayn. 

“Dunno. Like, you seem different, like you’d enjoy those action superhero movies.”

“I do actually. Batman’s my favorite,” Zayn says. 

Harry can’t help the grin that washes over his face. It’s just Zayn’s so _cute_ and _nerdy,_ something he’d never thought he’d ever peg him as, with the face and broodiness of a model, Harry didn’t think it was possible. He’s the full package, someone he could admire but also share his many bottles of wine with--drunk kisses, tongues tasting like expensive red wine, giggling like schoolboys because they’re just so _happy._ Harry could see that so clearly, he could write it down in his journal, a possible draft for his next book but also to record the raw emotions he has right now--something he hasn’t felt in what seems like years. 

“Of course you like Batman. Again, typical,” Harry teases him. He thinks he’s getting the hang of this flirting thing, he’s not so rusty anymore.

“Oh really? Who’s your favorite then?”

“Deadpool. Love seeing Ryan Reynolds in that spandex.”

“Got me there,” Zayn gives in, looking at Harry from half-lidded eyes. He’s a little drunk, Harry can tell, maybe that’s why they’re currently so close Harry can see the lone freckle in Zayn’s eye. They’re both leaning up against the bar, Harry could touch his hand without any hassle, loosely hold onto Zayn’s fingers, aching for that contact. But he doesn’t, he’s too nervous, doesn’t want to seem too forward and scare him off. _Maybe he’s not even gay,_ Harry thinks even though he’s certain Zayn’s been giving him ‘fuck me’ eyes ever since he walked up or Harry could just be wishfully thinking--he tends to do that a lot. 

The conversation continues to flow, drinks eagerly consumed, and Harry’s well on his way to being drunk enough that he doesn’t feel totally uncomfortable. It’s taking everything in him to not touch Zayn right now--he wants to feel his skin on his own, wonders if it’s warm and soft like he’s imagined it. Harry curses whatever higher power that exists because he’s pretty sure they created Zayn from his own deepest fantasy and put him down on Earth to shatter Harry’s already depleting heart. Zayn’s rambling on to him about his nephew and asking Harry about his children like he genuinely cares, making Harry’s heart pound like a drum. His eyes light up when Harry mentions Liza’s about to start primary school soon, how he’s a little anxious about her taking on something so new and daunting but Zayn’s there, rubbing his arm reassuringly, telling him it’ll be okay, that Liza’s _‘a great, smart, sweet, little girl and she’ll be just fine.’_ Harry’s sure Zayn’s touch has left a burn mark through his jumper, a flush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. God, he needs to go home and have a wank. But before Harry can respond, Cassie’s bounding up beside him, clearly way too intoxicated to know personal boundaries.

“Harry! We’re leaving, Josh cut me off. He’s a proper wanker,” she slurs, barely coherent. Harry has no idea who Josh is but he seems to be the only sensible one at the moment. Cassie’s sloppily leaning against Harry now, her self-awareness gone and Harry’s dreading the moment he has to sit in the cab with her, praying he doesn’t have to see her vomit all over the floor. 

“Your Harry’s friend. Zayn. You’re v-very pretty,” all her words are blending into one and Harry wants to die. If he wasn’t blushing before, he’s sure he is now--beet red and utterly humiliated. He’s going to kill Cassie later, not literally but he might block her number for a bit, show her how he really feels. 

“Um, yeah. T-that’s me,” Zayn stutters, rubbing the back of his neck and laughing nervously. Cassie tends to do that to people even when she’s drunk, Harry notices. She can make them uncomfortable with just a simple look, it can work in her favor sometimes. But right now, it’s making Harry want to travel back in time to his hotel room, curled up with room service and a gigantic bed.

Harry’s mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ before Cassie’s able to soldier on. 

“Harry likes youuuuu--” 

“Okay! That’s enough! Time to go home, right, Cass?” He’s immediately pulling Cassie away, not even sparing a glance at Zayn, too embarrassed to function. There’s no coming back after this, Cassie does a lot of damage when she’s plastered but for some reason this felt ten times worse than the time she told an entire house party that Harry lost his virginity to Evan Collins in his first year of uni. 

“Wait, Harry!” He feels a soft touch on his elbow and he locks eyes with Zayn, who’s looking at him like he puts the stars in the whole entire universe. Zayn’s smiling at him, almost timid, like he’s unsure what to say next, it’s like he didn’t want him to leave just yet and Harry’s heart is racing again like a horse straight out of the gate at the Kentucky Derby. 

“Um. C-can I like, get your number?” Zayn can barely make eye contact with him, gaze darting everywhere but him and Harry can’t even fathom why. Has he been giving off the wrong signals all night to make Zayn even question the fact that he’s anything but infatuated with him? 

Harry nods eagerly, smile plastered from ear to ear, not even caring that he might look like an idiot but he’s so happy. He hands over his phone to Zayn, allowing him to tap his number into his phone and Harry does the same with his. Fingers brushing when he hands it back to him, a hot, fiery touch that Harry can’t get enough of. 

“I’ll text you, call you, whatever,” Zayn responds, grinning like a small child. Harry can’t help but do the same--he’s so giddy with excitement it’s insane, but he couldn’t care less. For the first time in a long time, Harry thinks _this could be something._

 

//

 

Harry can’t stop fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, constantly pushing back his hair in front of the mirror. He’s finally going out with Zayn on their first date and he feels like he’s about to jump off a cliff--he’s so nervous, his stomach aching and his palms clammy. Harry can’t remember the last time he was on a proper date--he and Jamie never went out that much, always opting to stay in, maybe watch their favorite movie instead. But for some reason this feels so different. With Zayn, Harry gets this warm feeling all over his body--he wants to tell him everything, even the most boring details, like whether or not he takes milk and sugar in his tea. He could listen to Zayn talk for hours--mostly about his nephew and all his sisters, how entertaining it was to grow up with nothing but women around, Harry thinks it’s endearing. 

Roxy’s eyeing Harry from the bed, Harry can only imagine what her internal monologue would be-- _get over yourself, buddy. You look the same as you did five seconds ago._ Harry always knew she was a snob. Finally deciding that what he’s wearing is appropriate enough, considering how long he’s spent perfecting every detail of his appearance, he walks out of his bedroom to the living room where Gemma and the kids have congregated on the sofa. They’re watching Mrs. Doubtfire. The kids have expressed several times that it’s their favorite film but Harry knows that’ll change by next month probably. 

“Oh, wow. Look at you, handsome,” Gemma winks sarcastically, shooting finger guns towards him. Harry rolls his eyes, not up for her snarky comments--he’s already anxious as it is, trying his best not to vomit all over the carpet. 

“Where are you going, daddy?” Liza questions as she curls up to Gemma’s side, sucking on her thumb. Harry wants to tell her she shouldn’t do that, that babies do that and she’s no longer one, _she’s four years old, practically an adult_ but he holds himself back. He wants to stay mostly calm before he has to leave, and yelling at his toddler isn’t going to help him maintain his zen attitude.

“Just, hanging out with a friend, sweetie,” Harry offers her a smile, not wanting to tell her _hey, I’m going on a date. He might be your new dad. At least I hope so._ He doesn’t know if she’d quite understand, although she’s incredibly observant nowadays. Harry’s sure she’ll be at the top of her class when she starts school soon. As for Connor, he’s paying no attention to the exchange going on in front of him, captivated by the movie playing on the TV. 

“Okay, well I guess I better get going,” Harry sighs, going in to kiss Liza and Connor both on the tops of their heads.

“Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine,” Gemma says to him, offering her best words of encouragement. Harry looks at her, her eyes kind and comforting, knowing that this is a big deal to him, that it’s not just a date--it’s letting his guard down. 

“I know,” he answers as he makes his way to the door, making sure he has everything--his car keys, his wallet. He takes one last look at himself in the mirror next to the front door. 

“If you mess with your hair one more time, it’ll be a greasy mess,” Gemma nags at him as she gets up from the sofa, walking behind him almost like she’s trying to push him out of the house. She knows Harry too well, he’d stand there all day fixing his hair if it meant he could avoid the tumbling anxiety in his stomach.

Harry ignores her, opening the door to finally leave before he says one last thing, “hey, thanks for looking after the kids.”

Gemma replies like it’s nothing, “of course, Harry. You know I’d do anything in a heartbeat for those little ones,” she smiles, glancing back at Liza and Connor snuggled on the couch before looking back at Harry and in that moment, he can’t help but feel utterly grateful for his sister.

When Harry finally gets to the restaurant, he’s certain he might have to change his shirt, already sweaty with nerves and his hair wild from the amount of times he’s run his hand through it. After a few hours of constantly messing with it, he thinks it might be a nervous tick and a bad one at that since it ends up making him look like he hasn’t showered in a week. With one last look in the car mirror, he reluctantly gets out of his car. When he made reservations for dinner, he thought a fancy restaurant was acceptable, he wanted to impress Zayn--not necessarily with the amount of money he has but let him know that he could take care of him, like he deserved a luxurious dinner. His dimples could only get him so far. 

He’s about ten minutes early--he wanted to get here earlier, get himself settled with a glass of wine so he could have at least a tiny bit of liquid courage before Zayn arrived. He curses that last five minutes of looking in the mirror for making him behind schedule. It’s as he’s ordering a bottle of red wine that Zayn walks up. Harry feels like the ground beneath him is practically shaking, an earthquake forming a hole and swallowing him up. It’s just, Zayn looks _perfect._ Harry never thinks he’ll get over how unbelievably gorgeous he really is--he’s all cheekbones, olive skin and lean muscle. Zayn’s top buttons on his shirt are undone, revealing skin and tattoos Harry didn’t know he had and suddenly Harry feels hot. He wants to see more, undress him and discover all the other secret markings on his skin he has hidden away from too much clothing. 

“Hi,” Harry finally musters up the courage to say, giving him what he hopes is a welcoming grin. He’s probably smiling like a dumb child, his nerves still present but not as daunting--it’s something about Zayn that makes him comfortable, like he’s home.

“Hi,” Zayn responds quietly, almost shy, like he’s just as nervous. Harry wants to take his hand and kiss it but worries that may seem a bit too eager. 

Before Harry can imagine any other outrageous scenario involving him and Zayn, Zayn kisses him soft on the cheek, scruff rubbing against Harry’s face, and pulls him into an embrace. Harry’s sure he resembles a deer caught in headlights, his eyes wide with surprise and his throat dry. He finally returns the hug, arms wrapping around Zayn’s waist, once he registers that this is definitely happening. _This isn’t a dream, Harry. Get it together._ The hug doesn’t last nearly as long as Harry wanted with Zayn pulling away at arm's’ length and lending him a tooth achingly sweet smile. 

“Sorry, I’m a little late. I took a cab and he wasn’t going the speed I would’ve gone,” Zayn tells him. “My time estimation was a little off.” 

Harry giggles, like a little girl. _Again, get it together, man._ “That’s okay, it’s nice to see you,” he responds, hoping it comes across a bit more cool and collected. 

After they both sit down, the conversation flows smoothly, it’s almost like Harry wasn’t about to vomit all the contents of his stomach an hour earlier. With some wine and food in their bellies, things seem to be more comfortable and less strained, and Harry tries not to let his heart beat out of his chest when Zayn puts his hand on top of Harry’s, linking their fingers loosely, that contact Harry longed for when he saw him at the pub weeks ago. Zayn’s unabashedly laughing at one of Harry’s horribly, corny jokes when Harry feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. His first instinct is to reach for it, always conscious that something might’ve happened with the kids--the exceptional paranoia coming from being a father. He holds himself back, some guilt washing over him and he’s sure it shows on his face. He wants Zayn to feel like a priority, not an afterthought, which is always something that came up in past relationship attempts. If he was going to be with someone, they had to be aware--they’d always come second to his children. It’s not long until there’s another vibration that Harry simply can’t ignore. He lets go of Zayn’s hand on top of the table and goes for his phone, immediately checking his messages, both from Gemma.

**Hey, no worries. Connor’s had a bit of an accident. Might take him to the hospital. He’s okay, I promise.**

**Just a bloody nose. Please don’t leave your date, he’s alright.**

Harry’s stomach is twisting into knots and he feels utterly sick. He’s staring at his phone like somehow he can fix everything from behind its screen. He needs to leave and be with his son but doesn’t know how to tell Zayn without seeming like a complete jerk. 

“Hey, everything alright?” Zayn’s asking him, concern all over his face. “You just got really pale all of a sudden.”

Harry’s finally tearing his gaze away from his phone, forgetting for a moment that Zayn’s there. “Uh, yeah. No. It’s my s-son. He had a bit of an accident. My sister said she might need to take him to the hospital,” he’s stumbling over his words, his throat dry and almost unable to speak. 

“God, is he okay? You should go,” Zayn urges him, starting to get up, like he’s willing to help Harry out of his chair, knowing he might be weak from worry. 

“You sure? I don’t want you to think this is me making up an excuse to like--”

“Harry, of course I’m sure. It’s your son. Family first,” Zayn squeezes Harry’s bicep reassuringly and Harry could nearly cry. If Harry wasn’t in love with him before, he certainly is now.

Harry isn’t properly registering what he’s thinking until the words come tumbling out of his mouth, “do you want to come with me?”

Zayn looks shocked, his dark eyes wide and slightly unsure. Harry shouldn’t have asked, he’s so stupid--Zayn doesn’t know his kids and probably couldn’t care less. _He’s just being nice, you twat._

“Uh. You sure? I don’t have to come if you don’t--”

“I want you to come,” Harry assures him, not wanting him to think he’s intruding on any personal family moment. 

“Okay,” Zayn smiles. Harry’s paying the bill before Zayn’s even able to protest, reassuring him that he’ll pay next time. Harry tries not to let the flipping in his stomach at that suggestion make him lose his nerve as he laces his fingers with Zayn’s and walks him out to his car. 

 

//

 

It’s not long after getting into his car, Harry frantically calls Gemma, begging her for the latest on the situation-- _we’re at home, Harry! Calm down--w-what do you mean you’re coming? No, I told you, he’s fine!_ \--but that’s not enough for Harry. He wants to see his son, perfectly healthy and happy, in front of him so the twisting, nauseating feeling in his stomach can disappear. He’s snapped back to reality when he feels Zayn squeezing his hand that’s resting on the center console. It’s like he’s reading his mind, knows he’s getting lost in his dark thoughts and doesn’t want him to get in too deep. When Harry glances over at him, only for a second, wanting to keep his eyes focused on the road, Zayn lends him a warm smile, letting Harry know _hey, it’s okay. I’m here and it’s going to be okay._ And Harry trusts him. 

Gemma’s in the living room when Harry rushes through the front door, not even sparing a glance at her sitting on the couch and darting up to Connor’s room. He’s sound asleep, not a care in the world--Harry feeling a bit envious while he’s worried sick. 

“I told you, everything’s fine,” Gemma says behind him, rubbing his back soothingly. Harry didn’t even hear her follow him up--too panicked to register what he was going on. They make their way back downstairs, Zayn still in the living room, amusing himself with Roxy at his feet. She’s rubbing against his legs, purring so loudly it sounds like she’s underwater. Harry tries not to let the admiration in his eyes get too overwhelming, Gemma would only blackmail him with it later. 

“What happened?” Harry asks her, voice sounding shrill. His hands are starting to shake, scared to death to hear the details but just wanting to be sure his child’s safe.

“Nothing too major. Liza and Connor were playing, got a bit rough and I think Liza accidentally elbowed him in the nose. Some blood, some cryin’ but they’re alright, I promise.” Gemma squeezes his shoulder, attempting a comforting role but just making Harry feel even more embarrassed for making such a scene. Gemma’s suddenly smiling softly at someone behind him and before Harry can even introduce Zayn to her, she’s five steps ahead of him. “You must be Zayn.”

“Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you.” Zayn’s walking towards her, leaning forward to give her a one-armed hug around her shoulders. He gives her a soft kiss on the cheek, Harry’s heart melting at the gesture and even captivating Gemma as well, Harry can tell. Not many people can impress Gemma--she’s always been the tough, outspoken member of the family, never letting anyone sway her from her usually steely demeanor. But this is one of the few times he sees a softness in her eyes that’s only ever reserved for his children, her boyfriend, their mother, and mostly her cat. 

Gemma’s looking at Harry now, she’s got that look in her eye, one Harry knows that she’s about to embarrass him, perhaps bring up that one time Harry threw up all over her cashmere rug in her newly refurbished flat, but Harry swiftly stops her before she can open her mouth.

“Yeah, well. Thanks, Gem. Sorry I panicked,” Harry breaks the silence, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward.

“It’s alright, H.” She’s making her way to the door, looking back before she turns the knob. “And it was nice to meet you, Zayn,” she adds, waving her fingers at Zayn and shooting a mischievous glance at Harry before she’s out the door. Harry wants to kill her but also make the scorching, red embarrassment on his face disappear. 

“She seems nice,” Harry hears behind him as soon as the door closes. 

“Uh, yeah. She’s okay sometimes, I guess. You know. Big sisters and all that,” Harry says as he turns around fully to look at Zayn properly for the first time in a while. He’s been so transfixed on getting home to see his son that he hasn’t even taken in Zayn’s full presence. Guilt washes over him, a feeling of neglect that nags in his ear--he likes Zayn a lot and doesn’t want to muck this all up.

“I-I’m sorry for dragging you through this. It’s our first date, for Christ’s sake. I’m causing this big scene, like--”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s your kid. No excuses needed,” Zayn interrupts him, stepping a bit closer, reaching for Harry’s hand hanging by his side. Harry’s heart is pounding again, something Zayn seems to cause quite often. Zayn would have to be deaf in order to not hear the metronome continuously beating in his chest. 

The length of Zayn’s eyelashes should be illegal, Harry thinks. He wants to touch them, kiss his eyelids while he’s sleeping, run his hand along the scruff growing along his jawline--Harry’s so enthralled by him and finally feels the urge to write, document it all so he never forgets. 

“Is it too forward if I asked to kiss you right now?” Harry whispers, realizing he actually says it aloud. Zayn’s staring at his mouth, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and Harry’s suddenly weak for him, his legs turning to jelly. Zayn’s leaning forward before he even has the chance to respond, and then they’re kissing--Zayn catches Harry’s top lip between his own, lasting only a few seconds before Zayn pulls back to rear up for another kiss, this time Harry getting a hold of Zayn’s plump bottom lip, nipping a bit, causing Zayn to let out a low moan. Harry’s hot under his collar, sweating down his back, but feels like he’s floating, the world about to collapse underneath him. He’s imagined this moment in his head forever, what kind of groundbreaking emotion would he come across when this finally happened and no adjective, sonnet or speech could ever sum up the avalanche he was experiencing right now. 

Harry can’t help himself, he’s cupping Zayn’s face in his hands, stroking his cheeks, feeling his scruff underneath his fingers, something he’s longed for ever since he first saw him. Their noses are bumping against one another’s, tongues clashing and Harry’s getting too ahead of himself. He has to stop now or the hard-on in his jeans will most likely be a massive embarrassment--that a mere kiss could cause him to get completely aroused, about to come in his pants like a teenager. He pulls away quickly, resting his forehead against Zayn’s. They’re breathing heavy, panting against each other’s mouths, unable to calm themselves down. It’d be so easy to just keep going, keep kissing until it led to something else entirely--Harry wouldn’t mind it if he’s being honest, he’d want nothing more than to take Zayn to his bed, lay him out, naked and sweaty, show him exactly what he’d like to do to him. 

“S-sorry,” Harry’s slurring against Zayn’s mouth, like he’s drunk from just merely kissing, his thumbs still absentmindedly stroking his cheeks. 

“S’okay.” Zayn’s holding onto his forearms like he needs them to keep his balance. His eyes are closed, like he’s trying to remember every single detail of these few moments and if he opens his eyes it’ll all be gone. When he finally pulls back slightly, he’s opening them, taking in Harry and his mussed up hair, rosy cheeks, flushed skin all they way down his neck and Zayn’s eyes darken. Harry’s done for--he wants him more than anything, wants to mess up his perfect appearance and see him completely vulnerable. He’d do anything Zayn asked if it meant he could just be with him. 

As if he was reading Harry’s mind, Zayn’s asks, “where’s your bedroom?”

 

//

 

They’ve been kissing for what feels like hours, Harry’s lips feel raw, skin red from rubbing up against Zayn’s scruff. He’s indulging himself a bit, not having properly snogged a guy in years--it feels good, like he’s back in uni, with the stamina of a 18-year-old but with a much different outlook on romance and sex. They’ve somehow managed to get their shirts off, entirely too eager to get their hands one another, Harry allowing himself to ogle Zayn’s smooth, toned skin covered in various tattoos. His fantasy is cut short when Zayn interrupted him to continue devouring his mouth with a kiss.

Zayn’s lying back on the bed now with Harry hovering over him, lifting himself up with his arms, they’re both achingly hard, erections pressed up against their jeans, occasionally rubbing against one another’s through the fabric causing them to hiss with pleasure. If Harry doesn’t do something about it soon, he’s going to have come-stained pants and that’s not ideal--he needs some kind of relief. Zayn’s cupping Harry’s face and with each stroke of his thumb against Harry’s cheekbone, his dick twitches and Harry can’t breathe. It’s like Zayn’s sucking the life out of him with each mind numbing kiss. 

He begins to unzip his jeans, still kissing Zayn, tongue licking the roof his mouth, before pulling away and asking, “this okay?” He wants Zayn to be comfortable, wants him to want it as much as he does. Zayn nods firmly without hesitation and before Harry can properly get his pants down, Zayn’s already grabbing a hold of his dick. Harry groans a bit louder than he intended, wanting to keep quiet with the kids right down the hall sleeping. He made sure the door was locked after closing it, not wanting them to trudge down to his room, begging to sleep in his bed once again. It would’ve been a discussion he wasn’t quite ready to give. 

Zayn’s working his hand up and down, twisting a bit, causing Harry to tremble. Zayn thumbs at the head of his dick, swiping that bit of precum forming, using it to jerk him off more smoothly. Zayn maintains a steady rhythm, continuing to kiss Harry with just as much exuberance when they first started, and Harry’s practically fucking into his fist now, moaning against Zayn’s mouth, breathlessly begging him to keep going.

“Oh god,” Harry’s whispering, trying to keep his voice down, strained with desire. 

“Yeah?” Zayn’s egging him on, wants to hear him beg for it. He’s filthy, Harry knew it. 

“Yeah, so good,” Harry moans.

“C’mon, babe. Come for me.” Zayn’s hand moves faster, up and down, up and down, twisting and thumbing at the tip every so often and Harry’s on the verge of tears. He can feel the buildup in his stomach, his vision’s hazy and he immediately covers up his moans with Zayn’s mouth, Zayn swallowing them up with his tongue. 

Soon, Harry’s coming all over Zayn’s stomach, white spurts landing on his abdomen. Harry’s breathless, sweat dripping down his back, he can barely keep himself elevated, almost collapsing on Zayn. With a strained laugh, Zayn rolls Harry over next to him so he’s not smothered by him. Harry turns his head and takes in his perfect profile, Harry wishes he could draw--it’d be the most ideal portrait to hang up on his wall. Zayn’s hair is slightly ruffled, a thin sheen of sweat forming near his hairline but other than that he’s utterly gorgeous, not even a stray eyelash left on his cheek. Harry knows he looks a complete mess in comparison--not even wanting to make eye contact with him. He notices Zayn’s still hard through his jeans, his bulge practically bursting to the point of almost painful. Harry reaches towards him to show him some kind of relief until Zayn grabs his hand and laces his fingers through his, the contact making Harry’s stomach flip.

“S’alright. Just you tonight,” Zayn reassures, thumb stroking the back of his palm. 

“You sure? I’m pretty good with my hands,” Harry smiles slyly, doing his best to flirt but probably coming off as corny, wanting to hide his face in shame. After he comes, he’s completely useless--a total ball of mush. 

Zayn nearly cackles, eyes crinkling in that way that makes Harry look at him with hearts popping from his eyes, “I bet you are. But yeah, m’fine. Next time.” He brings Harry’s hand to his mouth to kiss the inside of his wrist, Harry’s pulse quickening, positive that Zayn feels it against his lips. He’s just had Harry’s dick in his hand and he’s still getting butterflies--ridiculous.

“You can stay if you want,” Harry states nonchalantly--he doesn’t want to scare Zayn off, like it’s some kind of commitment he didn’t sign up for. Maybe Zayn just wanted dinner and a hookup and Harry’s just been reading it all wrong. He’s looking anywhere but at Zayn, nervous for his reply.

“I’d like that actually. Make you breakfast. I cook the best cheese toastie.” Zayn’s smiling wide, turning on his side to move closer to Harry. 

“Now I have a four-year-old that would beg to differ on that.” Harry’s facing Zayn now too, their noses nearly touching and Harry’s chest is thumping like a rabbit. Without hesitation, Zayn moves his head forward and captures Harry in a soft kiss--nothing desperate and pleading like before in Harry’s living room--but a slow, gentle one that makes Harry’s heart feel like it’s in his throat.

Harry’s smiling against Zayn’s mouth before he pulls away and nuzzles himself in the crook of his neck. He loves to be cuddled, longing for it more than usual lately, so when Zayn wraps his arms around his body Harry can’t help but feel a warmth inside his chest, like a fire’s just been lit. Harry’s dozing off, yawning and trying to stay awake with half-lidded eyes, taking in the musky scent of Zayn’s skin and thinking to himself _this isn’t too bad._

 

//

 

The smell of food cooking in the kitchen wakes Harry right up--he’s dreaming of bacon sandwiches and delicious fry-ups. He suspects Zayn’s keeping his word about cooking him breakfast--a man of his word, Harry likes that.

He puts on a t-shirt along with some sweatpants, making his journey into the kitchen to discover Zayn, slaving away over a pan full of eggs. Roxy’s sitting up on the counter next to him, admiring his work--Harry’s surprised she’s taken such a liking to him so quickly, usually acting finicky towards people she isn’t familiar with. Zayn’s seemed to find everything easily--Harry’s kitchen isn’t too hard to navigate once you get the hang of it. Harry could stare at him all day--he’s wearing one of Harry’s white t-shirts that was tucked away in his drawer along with the black jeans he wore last night, ones that he was struggling to tug off in haste so he could get more comfortable sleeping next to Harry. His hair’s sticking up a bit in the back causing Harry to snicker, allowing Zayn to acknowledge his presence. Harry curses himself--he wanted to admire for just a bit longer. 

“Morning.” Zayn’s grinning from ear-to-ear, a tad too excited this early. Harry walks towards him, returning his grin with a chaste kiss on the lips. 

“What’re you making? Anything that’ll impress me?” Harry asks as he leans against the counter next to the stove, eyeing Zayn in what he hopes is a seductive expression. They may have snogged for three hours last night but Harry still can’t get the hang of this whole ‘flirting’ thing. 

“Eggs and turkey bacon. Nothing fancy.”

“What about that cheese toastie? I wanted to see if your skills matched mine,” Harry teases, earning himself a pair of raised eyebrows from Zayn.

“Oh, really?” Zayn inches closer to him, begging to be kissed again and Harry nearly gives in until he hears then notorious footsteps from down the hall making their way towards the kitchen. Liza and Connor are in the doorway before Harry can even concoct a proper thought on what to say when they ask about the strange man standing at their stove. 

Liza looks a bit alarmed with Connor standing slightly behind her, almost like he’s letting her shield him from the unknown person standing in front of them. She’ll be a force to be reckoned with when she gets older and someone picks on her brother--Harry can’t help but puff out his chest a bit, feeling proud about that. 

“Hey, guys. Ready for breakfast?” Harry encourages them. _Don’t make this weird, Harry. Act normal._ “How’s that nose, Connor? Alright?” he’s stepping forward and bending down in front of him, inspecting his nose even though Gemma reassured him several times it wasn’t broken, it doesn’t hurt to double check. 

“Yes, daddy,” Connor answers so quietly that Harry isn’t certain he even heard it. 

“Who are you?” Liza’s questioning, glaring at Zayn and Harry feels his face redden. Obviously their meeting from weeks ago didn’t make a lasting impression on her. He anticipated properly introducing them to Zayn in a much different scenario--ideally not after a hookup the night before. 

“This is Zayn. He’s my, uh… f-friend,” Harry hesitates, looking back at Zayn who’s still standing by the stove, occasionally keeping an eye on the eggs cooking in the pan. Zayn offers them a tiny wave, unsure and nervous--who knew talking to two toddlers would be the most nerve-wracking process of their morning. 

“Your best friend?” Liza asks, shifting her gaze to her father. 

Harry smiles at her, “y-yes, honey. We’re best friends,” he tells her, winking at Zayn, ultimately making Zayn’s cheek heat up. Harry gives himself a few points for that one. 

There’s no further interrogation from them as Liza makes her way right next to Zayn at the stove and she’s breathlessly asking him, “are you making cheese toasties?”

Zayn laughs loudly, shooting Harry a quick glance and back to the toddler at his side, “is that your favorite?”

“Yes! Aunt Gemma makes the best cheese toasties in the whole wide world!” She’s jumping up and down excitedly now.

“Oh, really, huh? Your dad here said he made the best. Guess someone’s a liar,” Zayn tells her, slyly smiling over at Harry. God, Harry might topple over from heart palpitations real soon--this almost seems _normal._ Zayn talking to his daughter, bonding with her, teasing her. It’s like he was meant to be here. 

“What about you, buddy? What’s your favorite?” Zayn crouches down to Connor’s level who’s tucked behind Liza. 

Connor looks up at him with big puppy-dog eyes and shyly replies, “Cheerios.” 

Zayn chuckles, ruffling the hair on top of his head. “Well, buddy. I think we can get you that.” 

Harry’s motionless standing there in the kitchen, watching Zayn maneuver around his children while he finishes cooking breakfast and he feels _complete._ This is what Harry’s wanted all along--the family in a beautiful house on the English countryside and now that he’s watching it unfold right in front of him, he never wants to experience anything less than that. 

 

//

 

When Harry finally turns in the final draft of his newest novel a month or so later, he feels a sense of relief wash over him. He battled countless months of writer’s block because of his senseless arrogance--thinking he could take on the idea of writing a full-blown romance novel. Harry never knew what ‘romance’ really was--his definition came from the many rom-coms he watched late at night after the kids were tucked into bed. He watched _Love Actually_ too many times to count, memorizing the lines and crying at all the same parts, feeling just as pathetic as the first time. He didn’t experience ‘chance encounters’ or anything like ‘serendipity,’ so when the same person comes knocking on his door not once but twice--someone told him it was ‘fate.’ 

So when his agent reads his final draft of his romance novel--all about two people meeting at his doorstep because one of them just so happened to be a delivery guy--Harry won’t tell her it might just be based on a true story.


End file.
